The Bride Of The Devil

The next morning, Ivan was alone in his chambers. The light filtering through the windows was soft, but his mood wasn’t. After a while, he decided to take a walk. He didn’t call for help. He didn’t like people fussing over him. He just needed to move. Despite still being in pain

.

As he stepped into the hallway, the guards straightened and bowed quickly, their eyes full of fear. The maids walking past him held their breath and bowed their heads until he passed. No one dared speak. He said nothing either. He was used to it. The Hate. The Fear. The way they all avoided him.

He walked slowly, his steps heavy. Without much thought, he found himself standing at the door to the library. He pushed it open and stepped inside. It was quiet. Dust floated in the sunbeams. He liked the stillness here.

As he walked between the shelves, his eyes landed on the tall one at the far end. He remembered something—something small, but it lingered. Lydia, standing right there, stretching her arm out, trying to reach something. A map. She had struggled, her fingers barely touching the edge.

He had walked up behind her that day, taken it with ease, and looked at it. Just a plain map of the seas. He had muttered to himself, "What would she even do with this?"

Now, he reached up and took down the same map. He stared at it for a second before placing it back on the top shelf.

That’s when the pain hit.

Sharp. Deep.

He gasped, clutched his side. Blood seeped through his shirt. His vision blurred. His grip on the ladder slipped and he fell.

A heavy thud echoed in the library.